


our fates lie not within the stars but within ourselves

by lookoutforburningbuildings



Series: Torture Fics [11]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Beauregard & Caleb Widogast Friendship, Blood and Gore, Caleb Widogast-centric, Character Death, Crying, Dissociation, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Murder, Nott & Caleb Widogast Friendship, Past Child Abuse, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, Violence, a little bit of vomit, edit: this. belongs in my collection of torture fics., i guess? idk how to define graphic really, idk where the title is from i think its shakespeare, look it was a quote on the wall of my english classroom and the teacher said it involved murder, molly is mentioned. once., suck it trent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookoutforburningbuildings/pseuds/lookoutforburningbuildings
Summary: this isn't your fight to win, but it's your battle to see end.





	our fates lie not within the stars but within ourselves

One last strike from afar sent the man tumbling down to the ground, landing flat on his back. He stuppers a few coughs from the impact, sending blood out of his mouth and dripping down his chin, down his neck as he stares up at the wall behind him, and bits splatter onto his once pristine white shirt. Trent forces himself to grin wide as he sees the monk start to approach rapidly, hoping his bared bloody teeth would show that he wasn’t done. Show a lie that he wasn’t as close to falling unconscious as he really was. Beau mutters under her breath as she gets closer, and she can’t be further than fifteen feet before a voice shouts.

 

“Stop!” The voice is far off, in the direction Trent’s facing. He forces his head up and looks forward just as he hears a stomp of boots against tile floor. Caleb has jumped down from his higher ground, arm outstretched with the palm flat as he stares at the injured man with the one eye that’s not closed. It somehow makes it less threatening, even if the other eye is closed because that side of his face is caked with blood that steadily drips from a large wound at his hairline. “Stop, stop attacking!” He yells, a tone of commandment in his voice, and Trent can feel the enchantments laced into his words. He grins again before letting his head drop back to the ground with a thump. It hurts, but he ignores it.

 

The people around him all stop, he watches as they do. They’re frozen in place, staring at the human with mixed expressions; confusion, shock, even anger. None of them speak a word and none of them move. They just watch as Caleb stares at the man with no readable expression. His lips are barely parted, but they still show the stained teeth that are held tightly together, as if he’s trying to restrain himself. 

 

A laugh bubbles up in the archmage’s throat, and little noises are escaping in between him choking on his own blood. “G-Gods,  _ Bren _ ,” He hisses, the same fake and overly friendly tone he always used with him present. “Here-- hah! Here I was, thi-thinking that you-- you would want to kill me! Are you just g- _ guh _ -gonna leave me here?” He taunts, pushing his elbows against the ground to force himself up, but it fails. His limbs feel numb and jelly, each attempt sends him scrambling his hands on the tile to catch himself before he hits his head again. “Y-you--” His laughs turn to harsh coughs and he can barely get any words out.

 

Beau moves first, but Caleb stops her. “No.” He says, furrowing his eyebrows and walking closer. “No, no. This is…” He takes a deep breath as he finally makes it to Trent, watching him force his head up again to look Caleb in the eyes. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. There’s a long pause before his teeth bare and he presses his foot against the man’s chest hard, forcing him to stay down with a loud sputter of useless breath. He looks back to the others around him. “This is not your battle to win.”

 

The silence doesn’t last long. “Well, you’re not winning it alone,” Beau finally says, narrowing her eyes, looking back and forth between the two mages. Her eyes finally settle on her friend. “I don’t care if this isn’t my fight, I’m fighting it with you.” Trent wants to laugh again, not even for a second wondering who that possibly reminds him of. Caleb must feel the same, with the way his boot presses in further, grinding the heel against his sternum uncomfortably and painfully. 

 

“Ca-Caleb--” The goblin starts, taking a step forward, but she cuts herself off and stops when the redhead’s head turns and looks toward her. He gives her a look of grim restraint, a face that shows he’s been wanting this,  _ needing  _ this for so damn long. She slowly nods and stays where she is, looking to the others as well, hoping they get the message.

 

“Come on, kid!” Trent manages to yell. “If you’re go-gonna k-k-kill me, do it now!” He lets out a breathless laugh. “Show your-your friends-- sh-show these p-people what you do; what you di-did!” He opens his mouth again to continue, but is forcibly stopped.

 

“ _ Shut up _ .” Caleb growls, lifting his foot up and stomping down hard. There’s a loud crack and the man underneath him howls in pain, curling in on himself the best he can in his current position. He can feel himself get closer and closer to passing out, and he’s not sure if he wants to continue to fight or to let his old student learn another lesson. His boot is taken away and he looks far past the two he’s talked with already. “I just need a moment. Alone with him.” He finally says after the pause.

 

“Alone?!” The tiefling yelps, voice shrill. “We can’t just leave you alone with this-this…” She loses the words, and resorts to gesturing wildly. Trent gives her a weak smile, vision going a bit fuzzy at the edges. She meets his eyes and her face twists in disgust, sending the man into a fit of giggles and incoherent mutters.

 

“You don’t have to leave,” He says, closing his other eye and taking a deep breath before continuing. “But I would much appreciate it if you did.” His voice sounds breathy, almost growling again, and desperate, as if he’s clinging onto something; a memory or an idea. 

 

Jester is about to continue her protests when the half-orc reaches her and puts a hand on her shoulder. She turns her focus to him, and Fjord gives her a look and whispers something that nobody else can hear. She looks back to Caleb, who has finally opened both of his eyes, one slightly swollen and drooping, and they share a look of understanding. Jester finally nods and takes a step back, dragging Fjord with her.

 

“Let’s go,” Caduceus says quietly, calm as ever as he backs away towards the doorway. “If anyone comes by, we can keep them away.” He tries. The two already decided nod and follow him, neither letting go of the other as they make their way. Once they’re right against the door, about to step out, they look back to the other two.

 

“I’m not leaving.” Beau insists loudly. Her eyes meet directly with Caleb’s, who, although usually despises eye contact, is not looking away. “I want to see.” She whispers, a determined look in her eyes. He realizes in that second that she might be projecting. That she’s thinking this is someone else, or that she’s taking out the vicarious anger by seeing it. There’s a moment before Caleb nods, head dropping and staring at the mage. He’s smiling with pure mirth but his eyes have glossed over, staring at nothing. He nods again and turns to Nott.

 

She looks emotionless as she steps forward and glances at his face. “How...how do you want to do this?” She finally whispers, monotonous. He stays silent and stopped for a moment before taking a step forward. And then another. And then he practically stumbles to her, stopping right in front of her. He kneels down and looks her straight in the eyes for probably the first time either of them can remember. She knows the look in his eyes, and he knows the look in hers. “I’m not leaving you.” She breathes. “You’re--...you’re stuck with me, kid.” The words that had been comforting the first times now sound solemn and weary.

 

He slowly reaches out towards the bag of holding hanging at her side. “...You have those tools,  _ ja _ ?” He asks silently, and the sound of a door slamming shut reverberates through the room. She nods and opens her bag, rifling through for a long minute and pulling out a club that’s too big for her but sizeable for a human of Caleb’s size. After a moment, he takes the crowbar in her hand and stands, giving her a hint of a smile, maybe just a twitch, and turning back. Beau has her foot pressing against Trent’s forehead, pinning him to the ground. “Drop him, will you?” He asks.

 

She takes her foot away and the man stirs, rolling over onto his side to stare at Caleb. The grin is back and the blood that was striping his face is no longer steadily bleeding. It’s just slowly drying to his yellow skin. The lines of red that poured from his nose and mouth and some from stray cuts on his face are just lines now. Caleb’s pace doesn’t falter.

 

“I’m g-g- _guh_ -glad that you’re...returning to your roots,” He slurs. The younger human stops and watches for a moment, ready to listen. “You...you loved this, you know you d-did.” The man taunts. Caleb shakes his head and moves closer, giving Beau a look. She backs away and turns towards where Nott is, going to stand beside her. “May-maybe this is just...your final test! You loved to-to torture those...betrayers…” He’s right in front of the man, frozen in place. Trent can see him shaking. “D-don’t be scared. I’m not!” He breaks into laughter again. “You-you-you loved every fucking _seh_ -second of these tests! Don’t-don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy watching that house _burn to_ _the fucking ground_ \--”

 

He brings the crowbar down to his face, hitting him so hard he twists on the ground and falls flat on his back again. There’s a snapping sound followed by a loud groan. It makes the others flinch. The bleeding has returned, instead coming out of the laceration over the fractured cheekbone on Trent’s face. The fleshy pink is quickly covered with pure red that fills the cut and spills over the side. He tries to push his head up, but the crowbar comes down again, whacking against him in a different place but with the same strength as before. It strikes him right on the bridge of the nose, making another crack noise and another stream of blood pour out. His head falls hard against the ground again.

 

Trent’s eyes are barely open, half lidded and staring up at nothing. That’s not good enough for Caleb, who hits him again, this time aiming straight for the eye. He manages to hit, and there’s a loud yell as some kind of clear gel splatters across the man’s face and gets stuck to the crowbar. He barely notices how the mess of goop strings together as he pulls back, focused entirely on the blood that’s now pouring from the socket. His breathing is shallow and barely present, so Caleb hits him again.

 

He hits him right above the lip, hearing another cracking noise as the teacher’s mouth falls open, exposing the now cracked and broken teeth. Blood pools in the hole where one of them should be and in the gums of the others, flowing and pouring down his throat. He chokes. He pulls back and hits him again, right in the temple. He must’ve hit something, because the skin that splits open gushes a new fountain of blood in time with his heartbeat that’s slowly coming to a stop.

 

He hits the same spot again harder, hearing another crack and watching the blood jet out down the side of his head and pool on the ground. He pulls back and hits him again, straight in the forehead, making a huge fissure in the skin. He hits again in the same spot, watching the wound open considerably more and the bone underneath crack under the weight and force. One more time, he hits him in the same spot, and the louder and more satisfying noise is what does it, leaving the man unmoving beneath him. He’s dead. He’s gone. He’s not going to do anything more to hurt anyone else.

 

Caleb doesn’t stop.

 

He hits him again. He hits him again. He hits him again. And again. And again. Again. Again. Again. 

 

He’s not sure why he’s not stopping. Something inside him snapped, and now he can’t finish until the face is unrecognizable and a bloody mess of pulp and bone. Wants to see it leave, that damned face, wants to see it gone finally. Maybe then he can forget.  He keeps hitting him, once for every incident and then some.  _ One for the yelling _ .  _ One for the hitting _ .  _ One for the anger _ .  _ One for the pain _ .  _ One for me _ .  _ One for Eodwulf _ .  _ One for Astrid _ .  _ One for my mom and one for my dad _ .  _ One _ .  _ One _ .  _ One _ . 

 

His vision blurs and it’s just red blobs under him. He doesn’t even notice that it’s because he’s crying until he feels the tears fall from his cheeks to the floor and body below. Doesn’t start sobbing until he realizes it’s happening. His lungs burn, and he doesn’t even know if he’s remembering to breathe before the gasps come out racked and ragged. The noises are pathetic, he knows they are, he knows how they sound. If he was sixteen again and Trent heard him crying, he’d probably beat the shit out of him. 

 

But now it’s the other way around and Trent is dead. He can’t hurt anybody anymore. So why can’t he let it go? Why can’t he stop moving his arm and hitting recklessly? His arm hurts, it’s straining and painful, it feels bruised and aching already, why won’t he just stop? 

 

Maybe in the back of his mind he knows it’s because Trent never stopped. He was inexorable, never stopping until Bren was gasping for breath, unable to breath through the sobs and tears, mumbling in an incoherent mix of Zemnian and Common and some Celestial to stop. He never stopped until Eodwulf was begging and pleading for forgiveness, saying he’d stop, saying he’d never do it again, saying he’d make it up to him. He never stopped until Astrid stopped screaming and stopped fighting, stopped trying to hit him and claw at his arms and face and yank the chains from around his neck and gold from around his fingers. Maybe in the back of his mind, but not in the front and not now.

 

He doesn’t stop until his attacks were weak and the hits meant nothing. They were just splashing the pool of blood further, not adding to the mix of blood and oil and flesh and bone and other fluids and solids. He doesn’t stop until a hand gently touches his shoulder and rests there for a moment. He was still moving when Beau took his wrist in her hand and pulled it back, making his movements pause. She trails her fingers up to his, uncurling them from around the club and letting it fall onto the corpse below and clatter on the ground. She twists his hand around and intertwines her fingers with his. 

 

Caleb falls to his knees, head dropping and chin resting on his chest as he tearlessly sobbed. Beau came with him, leaning against his back and staying there even as he grips her hand tightly enough to crush. He feels another hand glide across his back, tiny and clawed, rubbing comforting circles into the space between his shoulder blades. No words were exchanged, but the actions spoke so much louder than any sentences and phrases of consoling could.

 

The cries slowly elevate into screams and yells, releasing years of regret and anguish; years of hatred, years of remembering, years of childhood lost to the idea of maturing so he could be what something else wanted. The screaming was violent, enough to make him gag and sputter, doubling forward onto himself and spitting up a mix of bile and blood onto the white shirt of the corpse. He hears an intake of breath from the source of the hand holding his, maybe disgust, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. The clawed hand stops its ministrations for a moment, instead patting him on the back to maybe calm his nerves or soothe his stomach.

 

He continues to hack and heave, the tears long since dried on his face, until he no longer feels the buzzing under his skin and the pounding in his head. The loud cries turned to silent whimpers and whines that eventually faded off, resulting in nothing but heavy breaths and sighs.

 

“He’s dead.” Caleb finally whispers, voice weak and cracking. Not a question or a statement, just a sentence. 

 

“He is.” Beau mutters matter-of-factly. “Are you okay?”

 

He doesn’t know. He really, truly doesn’t know. He always thought of this moment that everything was leading up to, and he thought that he’d be relieved and happy, but he just feels numb and tired. Empty. He distantly wonders if this is how Molly felt that first week. But the thought doesn’t reach his recognition. He’s somewhere else, and he doesn’t even know where. It’s so fuzzy and blurred. He feels pins and needles in his lower legs but at the same time he doesn’t feel anything. It’s all muffled and vague. He knows this has happened before, but he can’t really put an emotion to the memory. 

 

“Caleb?” Nott’s small voice calls. He doesn’t look away but nods slightly, so little it might as well have just been a twitch. “Do-do you need a minute? Should-should w-we go get the others and-and, uh...may-maybe leave?” He makes the same almost nodding motion. “Alright then. Let-let’s get out of here.”

 

He’s aware that Beau is helping pull him up into a stand, but he’s not sure he feels it. The second he lands on his feet, he sway for a moment, almost collapsing again. “Hey, hey, don’t fall on us.” She mumbles, putting both hands on his shoulders to help steady him. “Let’s get out of here and...leave this asshole to whatever comes by.”

 

That sounds nice.

 

It sounds nice.


End file.
